


never going to tell on you

by orphan_account



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: Drabbles, Drug Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Toxic Relationships, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8737858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: a new ongoing collection of virus/trip drabbles; triggering topics will probably be in this so be careful of that. im completely and totally enamored with these two





	1. desire

  
_"We're not_ _supposed to be awake,"_

It's a hushed whisper, barely audible and muffled by the thin blanket shielding the two. Night time- the time where the doctors tell them to sleep, even when the new medicine they've tested on the two force them to stay awake.

Trip grinned after saying this, irony dripping from his voice. Virus doesn't respond. The boy is wide awake, but annoyed and tired nonetheless.

Sleep was a privilege that neither of the two had been able to partake in often. When they did finally manage to slip into unconsciousness at night, they would be forced awake by the night terrors that littered their minds. Side effects; _f_ _rom the_ _medicine_ , the doctors would tell them, but Virus knew that it had more to do with trauma than pills. 

"Talk," The word rolls off of Trip's tongue as a demand, but it has an air of childlike mischief to it. Virus slowly turns around to face Trip, squinting at the outline of his face in the darkness. Rough hands wrap around his skinny wrist, and the younger boy pulls Virus's arm up to his mouth. Teeth that have never known how to be gentle meet pale skin that is far too familiar with jaws, bites, and tongues. He traces his ivories back and forth, satisfied by feeling bone underneath flesh. Virus is silent and still, his interest mildly peaked. Pale eyes are locked with Trip's, and the older male's face remains expressionless.

Trip's too-sharp canines break through Virus's surface, blood dripping out from the bite marks slowly. The boy becomes acutely aware of a desire now burning in his stomach. He wants to taste Virus. He wants to feel the blood that was once inside of him pooling over his tongue. He can make out Virus tilting his head, and maintains the eye contact. The icy-eyed boy isn't disturbed, and instead is steady and calm, as if Trip's done this a hundred times before. His voice is silvery and fluid.

"Your mouth is filthy, so don't get your slobber on me,"

Trip nods almost obediently, but doesn't make much of an effort to stop his drool. After a few minutes of gnawing and licking, he lets go of Virus's arm, admiring the faint traces of the bruises that will be left. He glances back up at Virus, and it is silent. The older boy leans over until their noses touch, their warm breaths mingling together in the short space between them. Virus then takes his thumb and wipes a splotch of blood away from Trip's chin, bringing it to his mouth and licking it up. Trip stares at him expectantly, adrenaline racing through his veins. Virus pulls away. "Goodnight," he breaths, his grin audible.

Trip doesn't respond and instead flips on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of them slept that night.

 

 


	2. ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to take a moment to apologize that this chapter took like five months to write, i'm 14, so my writing isn't the Best but i'm in love with these two and love to reflect on their traumas ( that may or may not include me projecting on them both ) . hopefully it's not too awful. thanks bro

Everything was dull- Particularly the pain that he had nearly gotten used to by now, and the foggy look in his stare that the nurses would comment on. "You've got such scary eyes!" they'd laugh, and he maintained unwavering eye contact with them until they got uncomfortable and glanced away. He knows his eyes are scary. They were ripped out of his skull, they're fake and haunted, and sometimes he wanted to tell them that just to see their horrified responses. But no, that's not Virus. Saying disgusting things to freak out the others is definitely a Trip move.

Trip is always hands-on, never thinking before he acts, seeing fun in violence and anger, fueled by his temper and lack of impulse control. His tongue isn't as sharp- merely, a blunt weapon used to stun and shock. He spits hateful things, but doesn't think of how deep he wants to cut others. Virus is sharper than a knife. Every move he makes seems to be calculated, every word he speaks is designed to sting and attack his opponent's insecurities and soft spots. He makes sure his words cut deep, and usually knows exactly what to say to make someone break down. Virus is quiet and Trip is loud. That's the way it's always been, Virus being the brains and Trip being the brawn, Virus being polite and Trip being rude... et cetera.

 

"Close your eyes," Virus did as told by one of the many strange men in the facility. He was on a white cot with a paper sheet beneath him. He had a lot of drugs in him today- This particular man had told him to swallow extra, and something told Virus they weren't exactly safe for a child his age. His head was fuzzy and his legs felt weak, the edges of the world had blurred and softened as if it was deteriorating, slowly, gently, like a petal falling from a flower. Fingers were suddenly shoved in his mouth, and he wrapped his tongue around them instinctively, erotically, like he was born to use his mouth in that manner. "You really want it, don't you?" The man asked, excited, his voice unfamiliar and strange to Virus. He heard the click of a door locking, and the man's hands were now under the waistband of his hospital shorts, pulling them down. Virus opens his eyes to look at him. He has a boring face; around 30 or 40, with stubble and a strong jawline. Not unattractive, but not exactly a supermodel, either. He only had on his big white T-shirt and socks, his lower half exposed, and looked away from the man. He couldn't see clearly, and could barely form a coherent thought- but it was nice. He barely even paid attention when he heard the man whisper, _"Here we go,"_ a deliciously perverted lilt in his voice.

He left the room an hour later. Everything ached again, especially his ass. He silently cursed the man and walked back to the bedrooms. The boy caught a glimpse of orange contrasting against the pale white walls and as he got closer, realized it was Trip, waiting for him in front of the door. "Your appointment took way longer than it should have," Virus shrugged, silent. There's an awkward pause, and Trip speaks again. "Let's go have some fun," he smiles, glancing towards an opened, unattended, office. _Let's explore_. Virus nods. That sentence is innocent, he tells himself, though the pit of fear in his stomach that formed from hearing those words wouldn't subside. _'Let's have some fun, Virus. Here we go..'_

 

There was a time when he'd resist, when he'd say no and try everything he could to scramble away from the older strangers desperate to be in him- But he's been at this for years now, and he knows there's nothing he can do to make them stop. He's 12, double digits with bruised knees, pale blonde hair and silky-smooth skin, chemicals in his eyes and flowing through his veins. He was stronger now. He could take it.

Sometimes at night Virus doesn't sleep. He lays on his side and stares at the wall, his mind totally blank, and just disappears for a while. He is empty and hollow in those moments, a husk of the child he is (or once was), floating between the planes of unreality and nonexistence. Sometimes Virus screams until his vocal chords feel shredded in his sleep, he kicks and punches and bites the doctors who try to restrain him while unconscious. He never acknowledges that he's done it the day after and seems to totally forget. Sometimes he cries. He wouldn't tell anyone, and he wouldn't make a sound or show any real expression on his pale face. But he would let tears fill up his eyes and flow down his cheeks, until the fake cyan eyes turn red and puffy.

"I wanted it," he would tell himself to soften the blow when he got in those situations. His defense mechanisms were to push down the pain and lie to himself until his fake thoughts become reality, and this plan was working just fine for him. He disappears in his head while it's happening, tells himself he liked it afterwards to trick the pain away. And just like that, he didn't feel so used. 

 

The delicate pads of his fingers press against a yellowing bruise on his inner thigh, hidden by his shorts but garishly large in size. He wonders where he could have gotten this one, but quickly afterwards he decides if he can't remember now, he'd rather not know at all. Virus watches Trip through his eyelashes from across the room the next morning, observing absentmindedly, a habit of his nowadays. The red-headed boy pulls on his white sweatshirt, his shorts and socks, glances in the mirror and makes a face at himself. "These new pills are weird," Trip says to him. Virus makes a soft 'hmm' noise in response. "Gettin' cramps like a girl on her period now. Sucks ass," he whines, rubbing his eyes. Virus doesn't reply.

 

He would never ask it outright, god forbid, but the boy could tell, his younger counterpart didn't get the same treatment as him. He didn't have bruises around his private areas, his neck or inner thighs; Nor did he seem to have the same attitude as Virus had about appointments. When they need Trip alone in a room with them, he's comically annoyed rather than just empty. He gets his shots, takes his naps, gets angry later over random occurances. But he doesn't come back with blank eyes and a sore dick. He doesn't immediately rush to the bathroom to gargle mouthwash that can't rid the taste of sex from an adolescent's mouth.

Trip used to get hit and kicked around by the workers when he would act unruly, which, admittedly, is awful on its own. But Virus's treatment seemed to be completely just for him- special - as if he was specially bred just to be raped and humiliated by older men. He didn't want to compare abuse to abuse. He wasn't going to say he's been through worse. But Trip could fight back, and he found excitement in closed fists and swift movements and pain and blood. Virus didn't know how to feel about teeth, tongues, dicks, hands, and unfamiliar bodies- He might have even been afraid. Not anymore, of course.

 

Tonight was one of the worst appointments in a long time. There were three of them, all men, all big and huge and tall, wanting to play with him. He cried out loud, going against his usual nature of staying as silent as possible during sex, and with every yell and sob they would go even harder, shoving their dirty fingers in his mouth. The drugs didn't do much good in numbing the pain, and rather numbed his ability to fight back (although, even sober, he probably would have stayed compliant to them). They all laughed loud when he came. Kept going even when he felt like he was going to break and die. He fainted near the end, and somehow...

He blinks the sleep away from his eyes. He's back in bed with Trip, and everything hurts, more than usual. He's wearing a too-big sweatshirt, one from the lost and found, probably, after cum got all over his typical outfit. There's still dried spit and semen on his face and his ass, but he's too exhausted to wash himself today. He turns on his side and glances at the red-headed boy, who's snuggled close to him, blissfully unaware.

"Trip," His voice is clear cut, and he double checks before speaking to make sure it won't tremble. He digs his nails into Trip's hand, a sharp pain that jolts the boy awake. "Jeez, what," he mumbles, slow and quiet. Still tired. He doesn't answer, and instead he snakes his hand from Trip's down to his boxers, and slips it underneath the thin layer of fabric. An experiment of sorts- Though deep down, he knew there was no way, he thought, maybe he would understand. Maybe he'd react the same way Virus does, and then they'd be able to connect through the fact that he wasn't the only one.

Instead, Trip blinks. He stares. He blinks again. "Your hand's cold,"

Virus blinks. He stares. He blinks again. He chuckles. He laughs. He keeps laughing his desperate laugh  until tears drip down his pretty cheeks, until his eyes turn red and he's sobbing like the world is ending and Trip has no idea what to do.

They stay up the entire night. Virus's crying subsides after about five minutes, and he doesn't answer Trip's questions about why he had broke down like that. Trip isn't sure if he wants to know, anyways. His head is in his lap, lying down as the younger boy runs his hand through his hair. "How do you feel about sex?" Virus asks, voice low and detached. Trip thinks for a second. "It sounds fun,"

Virus stares at him. "What about alcohol?" Trip pauses again. "I've heard its fun," Virus is smiling softly now, decides to throw in a curveball to see if he'll get the same response. "Murder?" Another pause. "Sure looks like fun to me," "So everything's fun to you, then," Virus concludes, his delicate features softening with an amused expression. How he wished to have the same mindset.

Trip nods, a smirk on his face. Virus hums to himself in an agreeing tune. His eyes squint up into a smile. "When we grow up, we'll do it all, then," he sits up and clasps his hand in his own, a sudden burst of determination at the idea of leaving. "Together, okay? And we can forget everything that's happened here. Okay?"

Trip grins, oblivious as always.

"Sounds fun,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ages are definitely wrong but I didn't have the energy to go look up how old they were when they met (I know now they're six years apart). also, the world is my oyster and canon doesn't exist


End file.
